


Want You to Feel Fine

by lookninjas



Category: Glee
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes five weeks, from that first pizza delivery to the final visit to the motel, for Kurt to get to the point where Sam is letting him in, letting him help.  It takes five minutes for the rest of the glee club to ruin everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want You to Feel Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to see someone being nice to Sam. That's all this fic is about, really. It's about people being nice to Sam.

"I'm just saying," Kurt huffs, jumping off the last two steps and skidding across the polished floor on his stocking feet, still just barely ahead of Blaine, "you pay for everything! Seriously, Blaine, it's sweet and all, but it's my turn."

"What is it with you and taking turns?" Blaine demands from somewhere just behind Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt startles a bit, his steps faltering just enough for Blaine to push ahead of him, his hand already outstretched as he scrambles for the door. "It's like calling shotgun, Kurt. Whoever gets to the door first --"

Blaine stops right in front of the door and turns to Kurt with a triumphant smile. And to be honest, Kurt doesn't really mean to wipe the smile off his face; it's just that the floor is slippery and his socks are slippery and he has too much momentum to stop, so he sort of winds up crashing into Blaine. To Blaine's credit, though, he manages to keep his feet _and_ keep Kurt upright, one arm automatically slipping around Kurt's waist to hold him steady. Kurt finds himself pressed against Blaine from hip to shoulder, his face kind of ridiculously close to Blaine's, and Blaine is still smiling and breathless and far too pleased with himself, and it's easy for Kurt to just lean down and kiss him. "Hi," he says, grinning down at his boyfriend, and very carefully slides one hand into Blaine's back pocket, his fingers closing around the smooth, body-warmed leather of Blaine's wallet.

"I feel like I should say something about the victor getting the spoils," Blaine says, although the slightly awestruck look on his face suggests he doesn't mean it.

Kurt slaps him in the shoulder anyway; he feels as though he's expected to. But he doesn't do it very hard, and he stays comfortably nestled into Blaine's side the entire time, partially because he's not really angry at all, and partially because it's an excellent of way of keeping Blaine distracted while Kurt picks his pocket and Kurt has no shame. " _I_ feel like you should get the door, since you're the one who was in such a hurry in the first place."

And because the universe is heavily invested in proving him right, the pizza guy pounds sharply at the door at that precise moment.

Kurt just beams. Blaine rolls his eyes, but he keeps his arm securely around Kurt's waist even as he reaches for the door.

"Finally," the pizza guy huffs, his face hidden under a bright red baseball cap. But there's something familiar about him anyway, something about his voice, something about the way the blond hair poking out from underneath the hat practically screams _Sun-In!_ "Two large vegetarians and an order of Dippin' Bread for Anderson?"

"That's me," Blaine says, reaching for his wallet. Kurt waits very patiently, trying not to smile, and is rewarded by a look of shock and dismay crossing Blaine's features. "I... uh..."

"Missing something?" Kurt says, holding the wallet up for just a second before slipping it into one of his jacket pockets and pulling out his own. "I told you. It's my turn." He turns, triumphantly, to the pizza guy. "Now. How much did you say that was?"

Except the pizza guy is finally looking at them (staring at them, really), and Kurt knows exactly why that bad highlight job looked so familiar at first. The look of horror and faint shame is worse, though, and Kurt dies a little bit, because he always thought Sam was better than this. That Sam would never _look_ at Kurt, at Kurt and Blaine, like this. He seemed all right with them at Regionals; Kurt doesn't understand why it would be different now. But apparently it is, because Sam is wide-eyed and shocked and unhappy, and it kind of makes Kurt feel about two inches tall.

Kurt slips out of Blaine's grasp, because he doesn't want to make this any worse than it has to be, and Sam flushes bright red and stares down at the pizza boxes. "It's... um. It's $21.63," he says, shoving the pizza boxes at Blaine.

"Here." Kurt pulls two twenties out of his wallet, and holds them out to Sam, proud of how steady his hands are, how they don't shake at all. Like Sam wasn't just staring at them in complete horror, and Kurt's just so baffled by all of this. He always thought that Sam was cool, that he didn't care about... about Kurt, liking boys and maybe even dating them someday. He can't imagine how it could have changed so quickly. "Keep the change."

When Sam looks up again, though, there's something new in his expression, or something that Kurt just didn't see before, because he wasn't expecting it. Because he was expecting Sam to be upset about seeing Kurt and Blaine together, but now he thinks it's something different. Like maybe Sam's upset about Kurt and Blaine seeing him, seeing -- what, that he's delivering pizza? But that doesn't even make sense. How is that something to be embarrassed about?

But Sam _is_ embarrassed, because he takes one look at the bills in Kurt's hand and tries to just wave them away. "You don't have to --" he sighs, pushing Kurt's hand back. "Really, Kurt, it's not a big deal, just..."

And Kurt's not totally sure why he does it, but he reaches out, takes Sam's hands, and pushes the bills into them. "Keep the change, Sam," he repeats. "Seriously, Dalton's known for tipping, and I don't want to ruin our reputation or anything. Just... Just take it. Please? For my sake."

Sam ducks his head, refusing to meet Kurt's eyes, but after a few seconds of hesitating, he finally gives up and takes the money. "Thanks," he mutters, shoving the bills in his little bank bag with quick, jerky moments, like they're burning him, and something is seriously wrong here. Kurt just knows. "I'll. Um. I'll see you." He doesn't wait for a reply before turning to hurry down the steps, and as the light catches his moving figure, Kurt gets little glimpses of what might be wrong -- the way Sam's shoes are flapping a little bit at the heel ( _talking shoes_ , his dad used to call them), the worn, ragged cuffs of his pants, the way he's not wearing a coat even though it's April in Ohio and therefore just barely above freezing at night. His hair's getting really long; Kurt wonders how long it's been since he had it cut.

"Hey, Kurt?" Sam asks, pausing at the bottom of the steps and turning back around. "Could you maybe... could you not tell Finn about this? That you... you know. That you saw me like this."

So it _is_ the pizza thing, but that... It's not like Sam's the only McKinley student with a part-time job. Puck's got his pools and Finn had the whole Sheets N' Things... thing, and Kurt works for his dad on weekends, and Sam knows that, or he should. There has to be something else going on, and Kurt doesn't quite understand, but he knows he wants to help. "Of course," he says, quietly. "No problem. Sam, are you --"

"I just -- I mean, Finn's kind of a blabbermouth -- no offense, but he is," and Kurt can only shrug, because it's completely true, "and I just... I kind of don't want this getting around? So if you could not tell him."

Kurt takes two steps down, his toes curling away from the cold cement of the stairs, and watches Sam recede further into the shadows. "I won't say anything," he repeats. "Sam, I... Is everything all right? Are you... are _you_ all right?"

Sam hesitates a long time before he finally says, "Yeah. Yeah, everything's... it'll be fine. Thanks for the tip, Kurt." And then he's gone, leaving Kurt standing in his stocking feet on the steps, shivering and bewildered and, honestly, kind of astonishingly worried.

"So," Blaine says, after a few seconds. "I mean, maybe I'm just reading too much into things, but I'm kind of thinking that guy isn't fine. At all. Is that... Am I overstepping again?"

"You probably are," Kurt says, jamming cold hands in his pockets. There's a car pulling out of the Dalton lot now, a pizza delivery light on the roof. It's only got one headlight; Sam really needs to get that fixed before he gets a ticket. Kurt could do it for him; the bulbs aren't expensive, and it'd only take a few minutes for him to swap the dead one out. "I think I probably am, too. We can do it together, if you wanted."

Blaine chuckles quietly behind him. "Come on," he says. "The pizza's getting cold, and your feet are probably freezing. We can start overstepping tomorrow."

"Okay," Kurt says, and heads back up the stairs, still thinking about that single headlight, about Sam's talking shoes. "Tomorrow."

 

*

 

Kurt doesn't like to think of himself as a nag, per se. It's just that he's noticed a certain value in... well. Wes would probably refer to it as "staying on message," which Kurt isn't totally sure he's a fan of either, since it makes him think of sleazy politicians dodging questions and everything. But he does kind of like the idea of having a message, particularly when that message pretty much boils down to _We care. We're worried about you. Please let us help._ He figures that it's the kind of message worth staying on.

So that's what he does.

It takes him a week of steady, persistent nudging to even secure a grudging promise that Sam might, maybe show up for this coffee date if he isn't too busy with other things. But he does show up, in the end, and when he finally slouches his way through the doors of the Lima Bean, one small blonde child hanging off each arm, Kurt can't help but feel like he's accomplished something.

"Sorry about the rugrats," Sam mumbles, as the kids detach themselves from his forearms and make a mad dash for the pastry case. "My mom said she'd watch them, only then she had this kind of a job interview thing come up, and so obviously, she couldn't --"

"It's cool," Blaine says, and he's already crouching down between the two kids at the pastry case, grinning from ear to ear. "I love kids."

"That's because you _are_ a kid," Kurt says, but it comes out a lot less biting than he wants it to. There's something about the way Blaine lights up when Sam's little sister introduces herself, the way he reaches out to shake Sam's brother's hand. Kurt's never seen Blaine interact with little kids before, and he suddenly wants to see it all the time. But. There are more important things. "So," he says, finally looking back at Sam, who's got his hands stuffed deep into his pockets and his shoulders a little slumped. "Your mom's at an interview? That's good, right? Is it a good job?"

"It's just temp stuff," Sam mumbles, and doesn't really look up. "You know, like... like a cattle call. A bunch of people show up, and then maybe five get called back, and even if you do get accepted, it doesn't mean you actually just get a job, just that they'll try, so..."

A couple of girls burst through the door, laughing and giggling, and Sam glances over his shoulder at them, scowling. Kurt can't think of the last time he saw Sam actually scowl at anyone; he's even been getting along with Finn okay, in spite of... well. In spite of everything. "Come on," he says, and thinks about patting Sam on the shoulder before deciding against it. "Let's go find a table."

Sam hesitates a little bit, looking over at Blaine and the kids -- his little sister is now perched on Blaine's knee while she whispers in his ear, and really, this is doing things to Kurt that he never thought could even be _done_ to him; it's like his heart is growing three sizes or something. "I should probably -- I mean, I told them they could have, like, a cookie or something if they behaved, so..."

"Leave it to Blaine," Kurt suggests. "Or don't, actually, because if you do, he'll fill them so full of sugar that they'll be bouncing off the walls all night, but --"

"I don't want him to feel like he _has_ to --"

Kurt sighs, and finally gives in to the urge to rest his hand on Sam's shoulder, pushing him along to one of the tables in the far corner, out of public view. "Trust me, he likes it," he says. "I don't know; it's like this weird thing he has, about picking up the check. You saw how he was the other night, didn't you? I had to steal his wallet just to keep him from paying. Mercedes says I should just take advantage of it, but I don't..." He shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I'm just not used to it, you know? Boyfriend stuff."

"But you're happy," Sam says, settling into his chair, and how did this turn into them talking about Blaine? That totally is not what Kurt came here for. "Right? I mean, not like it's any of my business or anything, but he seems like a good guy, and you seem... I mean, you seem happy, so."

"I am happy," Kurt says, looking back over his shoulder at Blaine. There's just something about him, crouching on the floor of the Lima Bean with Sam's little sister on his knee, Sam's little brother telling some story that Blaine apparently finds incredibly fascinating. It's like, every time Kurt thinks he's found out everything there is to know about Blaine Anderson, something else hits him. Like the fact that Blaine is really, really good with kids, and not in a false, creepy way, but in a real way. Absolutely sincere, the same way he is about music and Kurt and... well. Everything. "And he's a great guy. He really is."

He turns back to Sam, props his chin on his hand, studies him for a while. Sam's head is down, his face almost totally obscured by his hair (he _really_ needs to get it cut, but Kurt can't think of a way to say it that isn't horribly rude, and he's trying not to do that anymore). There's a packet of sugar in his hands, and he's fiddling with it, tipping it from side to side and then tapping it against the table, like it's the most fascinating thing ever. It occurs to Kurt that he doesn't really know anything at all about Sam Evans. His mom's looking for work, and it sounds like that's been going on for a while, so that's something. But what about his dad? Kurt kind of remembers Sam saying something about him at the beginning of the year, that the family moved to Lima so his dad could take this really great job. So his dad was around then. But is he now? Is that what's wrong, that Sam's dad isn't around? Or maybe it's something else and Kurt's just missing the point. It could be anything. Kurt doesn't know.

And he won't ever be able to figure it out if he doesn't make Sam say something.

"So, look," he says, and watches Sam lay the sugar packet down, carefully folding his hands over it. "I mean, I'm not going to push you if you don't want to talk about... anything. About whatever's going on with you -- and something _is_ going on, Sam, so don't even try to act like it's not. But you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But if you do, Sam... There's nothing you can say to me that you can't say to Blaine, okay? He is a great guy, a really great guy, and he's really worried about you. Seriously, he's been nagging me about this ever since the other night. He wants to help. We both want to help."

"He doesn't even know me," Sam mumbles, and doesn't look up.

"Yeah, that's kind of something else he does," Kurt says, and thinks about that first visit to Dalton, about Blaine sitting across the table from him, his eyes patient and kind, and how he'd known, immediately, that Blaine was someone to trust. And maybe Blaine's advice wasn't perfect, and maybe Blaine has done some stupid things, but Kurt still trusts him, and he doesn't see that changing any time soon. "Helping people; it's kind of his thing. So just... Just think about it, okay? I'm going to go stop him before he buys every pastry in the building." And he pushes his chair back, stands up, and turns to walk away.

Sam's voice stops him before he's taken the first step. "Hey, Kurt?" When Kurt turns back around, Sam still isn't looking at him, but something about his shoulders is softer, looser, more relaxed. "Thanks. You know, for..." He sort of waves his hand around the table, and Kurt's not totally sure what Sam's getting at, but he figures now isn't the best time to ask.

"Thank me later," he says, and goes to fetch his boyfriend.

 

*

 

It takes three more weeks of staying on message before Kurt finally finds out everything there is to know. Three weeks of coffee dates where Sam drinks tap water because he's too proud to accept anything else, and Blaine buys enormous brownies that he claims are for himself but always winds up splitting between Stacy and Stevie. Three weeks, five non-fat mochas, seven medium drips, a little conversation and a lot of waiting in silence, and Kurt never thought he'd have the kind of patience required to see this through, but he guesses he does after all. Because here he is, sitting on the floor of this cheap motel room, listening to Sam finally tell him the whole story, and he had to have gotten here somehow, so.

He thinks Blaine has helped him, although he's not totally sure how. Maybe it's just that Blaine's spent most of the last three weeks keeping Sam's brother and sister busy, buying them junk food and carrying them around and listening very intently to everything they have to say. Even right now, Blaine's not sitting at Kurt's side, but rather perched cross-legged on the bed, painting Stacy's fingernails while Stevie tells him all about the Power Rangers and how much he likes them and which one is his favorite and why. This, Kurt guesses, is another of those things that Blaine just does -- he picks up the check, he tries to help strangers, and he entertains small children while their brother is busy trying not to have a nervous breakdown.

He likes Blaine's... _Blaine_ things. He really does.

"I guess it's the pity thing that gets to me," Sam says, each word coming out slowly, carefully measured and weighed and chosen. His voice is just barely audible over the sound of the television, over Blaine and Stevie's mindless chatter. He could speak up, but Kurt refuses to ask him to -- he can't really blame Sam for not wanting all of this to be heard. "I just don't want to walk into school and have to deal with that every day, you know? Like, 'Oh, that's the homeless kid.' I mean, it's hard enough being the new guy, and all the jokes about my mouth and everything, but I'm kind of used to that. But having everyone know about this --" This time, when he waves his hand, Kurt knows exactly what he means. It's this motel room, with its weird orange furniture and wood paneling, the tv set hanging from the ceiling, the rotary phone and the floral bedspread and the cot in the corner and the two tiny dressers overflowing with clothing.

And it's funny, because this really shouldn't remind Kurt of the hospital, but it does anyway. Because he remembers how that place followed him no matter where he went, how he carried it with him everywhere. How he felt like no one, no matter how long they'd known him or how much they knew about him, could look at him and see anything other than that room and the poor, sad, lost boy who sat there, night after night, holding his father's hand and waiting for him to just _please wake up, please_. Like everything he'd ever done, everything he'd ever been, had been suddenly erased, and now the hospital was the only thing that mattered about his life. He'd hated that, so much.

"Yeah," Kurt says, quietly. "I know the feeling."

He glances up at the bed. Blaine isn't looking at him; he's bent over Stacy's hand, apparently concentrating very, very hard on getting her nails done just right. But Kurt knows, somehow, that Blaine is listening, soaking in every word.

"I kind of figured you would," Sam says, with a hesitant smile. It doesn't last very long; none of his smiles seem to, these days. "I don't know. I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should just tell everyone and get it over with, you know? Because Santana kind of... got after me a little bit the other day, about my clothes and everything -- apparently I look like a hobo clown, so... I mean if _she's_ catching on, then --"

"We could help with that," Blaine volunteers from the bed -- when Sam and Kurt turn to look up at them, he flushes a little bit and goes back to painting Stacy's nails. "I mean the clothes -- if you wanted, we could... See, my aunt and uncle think I'm like a foot taller than I really am, so I've got all these jeans that are just huge on me, and..."

"And I do own clothing that doesn't involve sequins and fur, no matter what Finn might claim," Kurt adds, and takes a few moments more to beam up at his boyfriend. The tips of Blaine's ears are about as pink as Stacy's fingernails right now, but that only makes him more adorable. "I don't really wear it, but I do own it, and I'd be more than happy to loan some of it to you. If you wanted, of course. It would be kind of nice to see you in something that isn't covered with grease stains and pizza sauce."

Sam's blushing a little bit, too, but he nods, even managing to look Kurt in the eye when he says, "Yeah, actually. That'd be... That'd be great. If you could do that."

Kurt reaches over to pat his hand. "Leave it to us," he says, as kindly as he can manage. He's gotten good at that, lately, being kind. Combined with his newfound patience, it kind of feels like he's growing up a little bit, and he thinks he mostly likes that feeling. Still, there's a part of him that can't resist turning to Blaine and asking "So, does this mean I get to go through your closet and get rid of everything I don't like?"

Blaine caps the nail polish bottle with a flourish. "Touch my Chuck Taylors and you're a dead man," he says, deadpan, before bending down to blow on Stacy's fingernails.

 

*

 

It has taken five weeks for Kurt to get this far, to get to the point where Sam trusts him, where Sam is letting him in, letting him help.

It takes roughly five minutes for the rest of the glee club to ruin everything.

There are about a million things Kurt hates about this moment. Like Rachel playing with her hair, and Finn staring stupidly at the whole room, and the way Quinn huffs and snaps, "Well. I hope you're all really proud of yourselves," with her voice high and brittle, and Puck's immediate, defensive retort of "What were we supposed to think? I mean, one of you could have _said_ something --" and Rachel is still just playing with her hair, and before Kurt even really knows what he's doing, he's grabbed his bag and is storming down the risers after Sam.

"Hey," Mr. Schue says, grabbing at Kurt's elbow. Kurt pulls back immediately, eyebrows up, and experiences that rare moment of pleasure that only comes when he successfully intimidates a teacher. Mr. Schuester's hand drops back down to his lap, and he looks kind of helpless and ashamed, and it's nice, but it's nowhere near enough, especially not since he's still talking. "Hey, Kurt --"

"Don't," he says, shaking his head, and takes a few more steps back. He hitches his bag a little higher on his shoulder, watching the rest of the class, gauging their reactions. Brittany is staring at Santana like this all has something to do with her, and Mike's wide-eyed in a way that he only gets when he's feeling ridiculously guilty, but pretty much no one else is even looking at him. Mercedes is staring at her knees, and when Kurt turns to look at Puck, Puck only has eyes for his guitar. "You know what the worst thing is?" he demands, his voice cracking a little bit because he's just that angry. Because he has worked so hard for this, and now he can't even talk to Sam without a lot of people staring, and he _hates_ it. "We probably would have told you. One of us would have told you, if you'd just asked. But you never did. You _assumed_. You made a lot of assumptions. But you never, ever, asked."

And then he hurries out of the room, because he loves the New Directions, even Santana, and he knows that as horrible as they've all been this week, they never meant any real harm. But still. They've all been horrible, _all_ of them, and right now, he just can't be around that.

And he was -- he _is_ \-- glad to be back at McKinley with his friends (even if they're all acting like horrible people right now), but he can't help but think that this would have been different at Dalton. That all the copies of the _Muckraker_ would have been confiscated and anyone starting rumors about another student's love life would have been suspended at the very least, and if anyone had tried to bring their relationship drama to Warblers rehearsal, they probably would have wound up with a gavel in the eye.

Which is kind of a captivating image, so Kurt ponders it a little bit more, imagining what it would be like to bring Wes to a New Directions rehearsal, have him sit Finn and Rachel and Quinn down and give them a lecture on appropriate behavior and professionalism and being part of a team for once. Then he starts to daydream about unleashing Wes and David _and_ Thad on Mr. Schuester, who probably needs the lectures more anyway, and before he knows where his feet are taking him, he winds up standing just outside the old, unused astronomy classroom.

Sam is lying on the desk, staring up at the celestial mobiles on the ceiling. Kurt wonders, briefly, what he's thinking about. He figures that now probably isn't the time to ask. Sam probably needs a little more privacy so he can cool off and regroup, and Kurt completely respects that. He really does.

He just can't quite seem to make himself go.

"You can come in," Sam says, finally; he doesn't turn his head or sit up, just keeps his eyes focused on the planets and constellations swinging from the ceiling. "I mean, I'm still pretty pissed off right now, but it's not like I'm mad at you or anything."

Kurt takes a few tentative steps inside the classroom. "I just wasn't sure... I mean, this is kind of a known makeout spot, since Ms. Castle went back to rehab for the fifth time and everything," he says, laughing a little, nervously. "I'd hate to make the rumors any worse than they already are."

"Yeah, about that," Sam says, pushing himself up so that he's sitting, his legs hanging off the edge of the desk. "Kurt, I'm really sorry. If I'd said something sooner, maybe... Everyone was talking about you, and I could have stopped them but I didn't, and I _should_ have, but... But I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault," Kurt says, quietly, letting his feet carry him the rest of the way into the room. He boosts himself up onto the desk next to Sam, a careful distance away from him, and folds his hands in his lap. "You know, I used to think that the one good thing about... everything, you know, being the only out gay kid at this school and all... There's so much that I figured I'd miss out on, and I always hated that, but I figured that at least I couldn't get sucked into the drama, you know? I'd miss out on the good stuff, but I'd miss out on the bad stuff, too. And, yet. Here we are."

"Yeah," Sam says, echoing Kurt, their heels thumping in time against the wood of Ms. Castle's desk. "Here we are."

"I don't regret it, though," Kurt says, quietly. "I mean, I'm obviously not happy that everyone assumed I'd just cheat on Blaine the moment an opportunity came up, and I kind of think Finn and Rachel might have been stalking me and we're really going to have to have a talk about that, but..." He glances up at Sam, who is still staring down at his hands. "If I had to do it all over again, I'd do it the same way. And I don't think -- You shouldn't have had to tell anyone about it if you didn't want to, and they shouldn't have been badgering you like that, and I'm sorry I didn't try harder to stop them. I mean, I did try, but... I should have tried harder. Because that wasn't fair. At all."

Sam pats his shoulder. "It's cool," he says. "I know you tried. And... seriously, dude, you and Blaine have really been... You've been really great. So I..." His hand lingers on Kurt's shoulder for a second before pulling him in to a hug, and it's kind of awkward and sideways and ridiculously unexpected, but Kurt finds himself tearing up anyway. "I wouldn't change it either. I mean, talking to you guys and everything. You really helped."

Kurt tries to wipe his eyes surreptitiously when Sam pulls back, but he has a feeling it doesn't work that well, because Sam pats him on the shoulder one last time before sliding off the desk. "Thanks," he says.

"And maybe this is a weird time, but..." Sam turns back to look at Kurt, his arms folded across his chest. "See, Blaine said we could skip studying this weekend if I wanted, because of the rumors and everything, but the thing is I really need help with my paper for American Lit and you said he was really good with Steinbeck, so if you could maybe let him know that I still want to do that, that'd be... that'd be great. Since everyone's gonna know by tomorrow morning anyway, so."

Kurt had kind of been thinking that this whole chapter of his life, helping Sam out and coming over to help watch his siblings and everything was about to end, now that the secret was out and Sam probably didn't really need him anymore; the idea that he could still hang on to a little piece of it hits him with so much relief that he starts to tear up again, although he manages to blink it back. "I'll let Blaine know," he says. "He'll be thrilled, honestly; I know he was kind of freaked out that you wouldn't want to... You know, with the gossip and everything, it might be easier to not have _another_ strange boy coming over and everything, so..."

Sam just shrugs. "I don't know. It might have been better if you were both there, you know? At least it wouldn't have been about the cheating thing, if it was both of you." Kurt is trying to think of a tactful way to point out that Sam's reputation wouldn't exactly be _helped_ by the idea of a big gay threesome, but apparently Sam is like five steps ahead of him, because he leans against one of the desks and says "I mean, you know it was never about the gay thing, right? Like, I don't care if people think I'm gay; it's not... you know, bad or anything, so it doesn't bother me. I was pissed off that people thought I was cheating, and that they thought you and Quinn were cheating, because that sucks and I wouldn't do that and you two wouldn't either, but... It was never about the gay thing. I really don't care."

"Yeah," Kurt says, and takes a deep breath. "I mean, I kind of figured, but it's still... It's good to hear, sometimes. So... Thanks. For saying it."

"No problem." Sam half-smiles at him. "And... I mean, you're gonna come with Blaine, right? To study? Because Stacy and Stevie kind of miss you when you're not around, so..."

Kurt kicks his heels against the desk for a little bit, thinking. "Actually," he says, "I think I've got a better idea."

 

*

 

It takes him about two minutes to change out Sam's headlight.

Except then he figures he should check Sam's fluids, just to be on the safe side, and it turns out that Sam's been putting off getting an oil change for at least as long as he's been putting off getting a haircut, so that takes him a little bit of time, and then there's filters to change and a couple of belts that need tightening -- nothing huge, but just some little things that he wants to take care of before they can turn into big things. After all, maintenance is important. And he's actually contemplating Sam's spark plugs (they don't really _need_ to be changed but he might not get this chance again, and he knows they've got the right ones in stock, so why wait?) when his father comes up behind him and claps him on the shoulder. "How's she looking?" he asks.

Kurt carefully pulls out from under the hood, and carefully doesn't laugh when his father immediately takes his place there. "Good, actually," he says. "For a car this old, she's in great shape. Engine's fine, battery looks good, the alignment's in great shape... I think the tires could stand to be rotated, but the tread's still pretty good."

"Still," Burt mutters, pulling back. "And we could probably stand to replace those spark plugs while we're at it..." He straightens up and puts his hand back on Kurt's shoulder. "I'll get her up on the lift, see what we're working with. Why don't you go take a break or something? Maybe get Sam and Blaine out of my office for a little while, so I can have my desk back?"

"Sure." Kurt doesn't move right away; he wraps his arm around his dad's waist and leans against him. "Hey, Dad? Thanks for letting us use the shop and everything today. I really appreciate it."

Burt just grunts and ruffles his hair. "Least I could do," he says. "And Kurt? I'm proud of you. You know, for doing this."

It's not like Kurt doesn't know what his dad's talking about, either. Because he does. It's just that, as much as he likes the compliment, he kind of needs to think about it for a little bit, because it's a huge compliment. _I'm proud of you._ "It's a headlight, Dad," he says. "I've been doing this since I was, like, twelve. Really, it's not like it's hard."

His dad just shakes his head, grabs him by the shoulder and lightly pushes him away. "All right," he says. "Go get your friends and get out of here. This is a place of business, you know. I've got work to do." Then he ducks back under the hood again, so he misses the way Kurt smiles at him before he turns away, heading towards the office.

Blaine and Sam are huddled together on one side of his dad's tiny desk, both their heads bent over a small, paperback book. "I guess the shock value is kind of the point, though, you know?" Blaine says. "I mean, there's so much cruelty in the rest of the book, and so many bad things that happen, that to have the most shocking moment really be an act of charity... I don't know, it kind of brings home the idea that kindness is actually kind of rare, and --" He glances up, just for a moment, and smiles at Kurt. "Hey, you," he says. "We're just finishing up, I think, if you could hang on for a little bit."

"Take your time," Kurt says, hesitating just before he gets to the sink. "It's all right if I clean up in here, isn't it? I'm not interrupting? There's a restroom; I could --"

Sam waves him off without even looking up. "You're cool," he says. "And if you need to change or whatever... I mean, I've seen _Strando_ half-naked, so it can't be any freakier than that. Not that I'm planning on looking, but you know what I mean." He flips a few pages ahead in the book, flips back, and by the time he's done looking for whatever he's looking for, it's like the whole conversation has been forgotten. "I kind of hadn't thought about it that way," he says, looking back up at Blaine. "But it is kind of... Like, there's all kinds of violent stuff in here, and then the part that makes you go 'Ew, gross,' is the part where someone's actually being nice. It's a weird reaction to have."

"Exactly," Blaine says. "And then, too... I don't know, that one moment just wraps up so many of Steinbeck's themes into one moment, you know? Like, there's the idea that we're all one big family, you know, humans, so we should love each other and help each other, and then what Rose-of-Sharon does... I mean, she feeds the man, this stranger, like he's her own child, her own flesh and blood, which is just really powerful, and..."

And it's hard for Kurt to actually turn the taps on and drown out the sound of Blaine's voice, to turn and wash the grease off when it means turning away from the way Blaine talks with his hands, his eyes huge and earnest and his whole face alight with excitement. Especially when Sam is listening and nodding and taking notes like everything's back to normal and he doesn't have to worry about his brother and sister, or his parents not having any jobs, or people spying on him and making up weird rumors or anything.

But then, it'll only take him like five minutes to get cleaned up, and he's sure Blaine will still be rambling on about kindness and family and how people are just innately hard-wired to _give_ , even when they've got nothing left. And, honestly, he's been waiting for over a month for the three of them to get to this point. Five more minutes won't kill him.

He turns on the water, grabs his father's bar of Lava soap, and starts to scrub the black from his hands. 


End file.
